Countdown
by MangoSmoothiePublications
Summary: There are many things Blaine loves about Kurt. These are only the most important. Future!Klaine, Blaine POV, no dialogue


**The Way He Moves**

He is a dancer - that much is obvious merely from the way he _moves _his body, regardless of the inanity of his task.

He floats, almost, but the action is more graceful than even that, when he walks. His hips seem to sway to the melody of his heart (or is it soul?) and only those who truly appreciate him care to notice. The fluidity of his movement is rarely impeded by his proud, ruler straight back and sometimes-insane shoes. The only time I have ever seen him _not _glide over the ground was when he modeled his GaGa boots for me, ages ago, and even then it was only because the heel of the left shoe was slightly loose. A quick application of Tacky glue and the problem was fixed…

Even now, when he's absentmindedly whisking egg yolks and chocolate and cream into mousse, I find myself fascinated with him. His delicate wrist and quickly darting arm, his solid shoulders and gently undulating hips, his throat pulling tight and relaxing as he speaks and hums sings with me are a dance in and of themselves…

Of course I've seen him dance. God, he's beautiful. He pours his heart and soul into what he does and ignoring him is never possible, not for me, not for anyone who _sees _him. It doesn't matter if he's up on a stage with thousands of staring eyes or performing one of those dances that are private, for me and him only, he's breathtaking. The elements should pause a moment and learn from him.

He is the lord of the dance and stars and rain and winds wish they could move as he does.

**The Way He Laughs**

He has a laugh for most occasions.

There is his laugh for when he is genuinely happy, the one only a few of us lucky ones have had the pleasure of hearing. It comes from deep within and spreads throughout, lighting up his eyes and his face and curling his lips into the most beautiful smile.

The there is the one I hate, his derisive, bitter laugh that only rears its ugly head when some asshole on the streets of our beloved city decides to blather some inanity at us when we hold hands, or kiss, or, rarely, serenade one another in public. His retorts are always hilarious, to me at least, but they hurt him and I hate that.

I adore his, "Blaine, you're being ridiculous!" laugh. He squints lightly at me first, probably trying to decide if I'm being serious until he figures I'm not, then shakes his head and laughs. It's never cruel and always friendly, and the love and humor in his eyes when I stick my tongue out at him make the soft hair-pulling that comes afterward _so _worth it…

Then there's the laugh he reserves purely for our children. It's soft, delicately loving, and sometimes incredulous, as if he can't believe this little person calling him "Daddy" is real and speaking to _him_.

It's happening now, as our daughter toddles over and pulls on his pants leg (she's still the only person allowed to mess with his clothing), demanding in her child's voice to have a bite of the chocolate, please Daddy, just a little bite, please… He shakes his head no, and shoots me a playful glare when I give her a piece of the leftover dark chocolate I've been munching on as he cooks and while I alternatively stare at him and work on the song that's due two weeks and ten angry calls from producers ago. I'll spoil her dinner, he says, and I better not give any to our son, who has just walked into the kitchen, sleepily asking if dinner's ready yet. I laugh and pull them both into my lap, planting sloppy kisses on their cherry-scented hair and simply say I love you.

And yes!, there it is… My favorite laugh.

**The Way He Sings and Speaks**

His voice is beyond description.

The first time I truly heard him was when he auditioned for his first solo when we were both at Dalton. That song has never been the same for me, not after the emotion he threw into the words and changed the way I saw music in general. He taught me, in his way, that emotions are okay and that putting those emotions into words with music is sometimes the only way to truly express them.

It's not just his gorgeous countertenor voice I love so much, of course not. His voice when he speaks is just as lovely. It will always be higher than it "should" be, but it suits him. I cannot imagine my Kurt without his voice as it is.

I know the kids love it, too. He's usually the one singing their lullabies while I'm the one to invent their nightly story. I often find myself just as enthralled by his songs as our son and daughter and at times he has to shake _me _awake when we're finished tucking them in.

He's singing right now as we wash the dishes. Well…he's washing, I'm listening to him and ignoring the dishes he's washed and moved to my side of the sink to be rinsed. The children are playing under the table, at times staring at him with huge eyes and simply listening to their Daddy's magic. I have no idea what he's singing, something about wolves and moons and the world as it used to be but oh, it's so gorgeous and I want him to never stop.

**The Way He Loves **

I know he loves me.

It's the way he moves when we make love. He always holds on tightly, sometimes with our hands clasped and held against his wildly beating heart, other times with a bruising grip on my hips or arms or shoulders, and at times, on the nights when we're equally desperate to become one person one flesh one body one heart, with his arms wrapped tight around me and mine around him.

It's his laugh that's just mine, saved for when we're alone in our world of sheets and pillows and blankets, kept for _after_. It's been there since our first night together, moments stolen in his room in Lima that first summer after my transfer and before our adventure's start in this city that refuses to rest.

And it's his love song. No words or music, at least nothing others can ever hope to hear. It's our intertwined heart beats as we sleep with hands clasped and legs tangled, it's the looks he gives me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, the look that's so desperately, desperately loving and hopeful and melancholy, it's our children and their laughter and their stories and _their _songs and the love we know they have for us…

And heaven only knows I adore him and there aren't words and there isn't enough _time_ and I want us to be here, in this place, in our home and in our world, forever.

I love him.


End file.
